


I Just Wanted To Tell You

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [32]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Ian thinks Mickey is beautiful, Late Night Conversations, M/M, One Shot, Sleepy Cuddles, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:36:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“The truth never lies, asshole. You're beautiful, Mick. You're just as stubborn not to notice that.” " </p><p>Prompt: Could you write a fluffy fic where Ian keeps telling Mickey how beautiful he is because Mickey doesn't believe him? xo"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Wanted To Tell You

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this is good?? Hope you like it!! 
> 
> Mickey is beautiful and should know that at all costs
> 
> prompts? : im-an-angel-y0u-ass.tumblr.com

“Mickey?” Ian mumbles into Mickey's hair, just moments after he fucked him nearly into the wall. The older boy hadn't spoke since, his head resting against Ian's chest just above his heart, as he snuggled into the younger boys side. The thought had popped into Ian's head; both lying there and seeing Mickey all flustered just an hour before, a pink shed of skin against his face.

 

Mickey's voice is hoarse and annoyed, his throat slightly croaky. “What, Gallagher?”

 

Ian didn't just want to blurt it, he wanted to shout it. He looked down to Mickey through his lashes and couldn't behold what he saw; The brunette's hair was stuck against his head, sweaty strands stuck together against his smoothed out forehead, his eyes were fluttering as they tried to fight back sleep, his lips twitching a little sleepily. “You're beautiful.”

 

“What?” Mickey repeats, shifting awkwardly against Ian's chest.

 

It wasn't unexpected that Mickey would be a little angry at Ian's confession or gratitude; that was just how Mickey worked. Ian couldn't help but say it again, it was true after all. Mickey was the most breath taking person he had ever seen, couldn't he tell him that? “I _said,_ you're beautiful.” 

 

“I fucking heard you, Gallagher.” Mickey snaps back, unintentionally. The his tone changes, like a flick of a switch, its softer – more delicate. “But why the hell are you telling me that?” 

 

Ian's heart shatters in the utter insecurity echoing Mickey's voice. “I'm telling you the truth, isn't that good thing?” Even though the light outside the window slowly dims, he can still see the tug in the corner of Mickey's lips, the soft rolling of his eyes as he fingers create shapes against Ian's pale skin. 

 

“You must be mistaken in your idea of the fucking truth.” Mickey scoffs, hands still in movement, trailing the tattoo inked over Ian's heart. From the first day he had seen Ian's huge display of affection, he would never regret the inked words also written against his chest. 

 

If it wasn't for the tender touch of Mickey's fingertips, Ian would have made a big deal out of Mickey's words. Instead, he changes their positions, shoving Mickey towards the mattress so he could finally make-out Mickey's face as his chin rests against the dip of the older boys shoulder. “The truth never lies, asshole. You're beautiful, Mick. You're just as stubborn  _not_ to notice that.” 

 

“Fuck off.” Mickey tries to hide his face, bashfully. Turning his gaze away from Ian's, for the pure fact that if he locked blue with those hazel balls of light – that somehow made the room brighter – he wouldn't be able to argue against him. Ian had that effect. “I ain't fucking beautiful, so shut up and go to sleep.” 

 

“But you _are.”_ Ian elevates into a whine, leaning against his elbows on either side of Mickey's chest, tangling his legs with Mickey's as he heaves his body onto his. “You've got hair that I love running my hands through and tugging hard when we fuck. Your eyes are perfect.” He glares as Mickey scoffs. “I mean it, your left one has a little bit of green in it, which I never fail to fucking stare at. Your face is so smooth and defined and I just want to kiss the shit out of it.” 

 

“You don't have to _want_ to do that, Gallagher, you do it anyway.” Mickey states, hands slowly creeping to the back of Ian's head, fingers fiddling with the little curls that manage to emerge at the nape of Ian's neck. 

 

Ian places a finger against Mickey's lips. “Sh, I haven't finished yet. Let me prove my point, asshole.” Mickey grunts impatiently, shaking his head in disbelief as Ian counts off his list. “Don't even get me started on your body – I'm so fucking happy its _all_ mine, like I've found a four leaf clover or some shit. I'd kill a fucker who would have the privilege to kiss it-” His lips place a gentle kiss at the side of Mickey's neck. “Touch it, be able to fuck you like I do.” 

 

Mickey snorts, trying to act like all Ian was saying was utter bullshit. 

 

“You don't have to believe me, but atleast _I_ know you are.” Ian speaks softly, voice like a lush velvet. “I just wanted to tell you.” 

 

“You didn't fucking have to.” Mickey answers back, pointedly. “Just get on me, Gallagher, fucking hell.” 

 

Ian looks through his lashes, his eyes filled with innocence that Mickey knew was deceiving. “Admit it.” 

 

The older boy groans, hands locking with the back of Ian's neck. “Admit what?” 

 

“That you're beautiful.” 

 

Mickey was complementing kicking Ian out of the bed; he would always chuck this cheesy bullshit at him at a time of his vulnerability. Ian was looking at him like he knew all the answers, like the sun shone out of his ass, like he actually was  _beautiful._ But fuck believing that when the real beauty was sprawled against his chest. “I ain't admitting shit.” 

 

“Fine.” Ian shrugs, untangling himself from Mickey and turning away on his side of the bed. He can feel Mickey deciding what to do next, his heavy breathing giving the indication that he was preparing himself to say something. Ian smirks, shyly, against his pillows, hand resting beneath his head. 

 

Mickey pulls at Ian's shoulder, turning him against the sheets. “Fucking fine, you speak a word of this to anyone I'll kill you, that clear?” He warns Ian, knowing his threats were just a distant breath in the wind. “I'm-m beautiful.” Ian's eyes gleam, smile splitting against his face. “ _But,_ not as much as you are.” 

 

Out of all the remarks Ian had expected from Mickey, not in a million years would he had thought he would say that. “Fucking sap.” He mutters, biting into the skin of his bottom lip, stifling his laughter that brewed in his stomach. 

 

“Says the one who recited fucking Shakespeare.” Mickey slaps at the bare skin of Ian's chest, flipping him off as he flopped backwards onto the sheets. Ian turns his body once more, curling into the crook of Mickey's arm. “I don't think Shakespeare said “Get on me, Gallagher.” So your point is invalid.” 

 

“So's yours.” Mickey remarks back, shrugging Ian's words out of his system. It if wasn't for the immediate spark he felt under the touch of Ian's hands, he would have left the room way before this could of escalated. 

 

“I don't care what you say.” Ian raises his eyebrows, strongly. “It's the truth and that's all I have to know.” He pulls Mickey towards him, looping his arms around his shoulders as the brunette falls against his chest. 

 

“Okay then, but its still bullshit.” 

 

Ian counts himself triumphal. “But you _are_ beautiful.” Those words would never fail him, because Mickey was just that. In his own way, Mickey was the best thing Ian had laid eyes on. In fact, Ian  _knew_ he would never get any more luck that this. Mickey was it. Mickey was everything he had asked for, and maybe yeah – he had forgotten that for a while, but he sure knew it now. 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey laughs against Ian's heart. He would never believe Ian, because he wasn't as big-headed as the kid – but, it didn't matter. Bitch or no bitch, he'd never get Ian to stop saying that shit. The boy was the only one who actually saw something _in_ him. He'd never be more grateful for that. 


End file.
